


A Happy Ending

by Alitheia



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4903138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alitheia/pseuds/Alitheia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Because I just wanted to make a happy ending,” Ryouta said, “and I still do.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. stillness of the room

**Author's Note:**

> another attempt to write in english, haha, please kindly correct me if you find any error and i will happily, also appreciatively, revise it ;w; this is actually a draft i’ve written quite some time ago but had never published it until now ;w;
> 
> Kuroko no Basuke © Tadatoshi Fujimaki and I'm not gaining any profit from writing this fanfiction

Tetsuya is beautiful.

While ‘beautiful’ may not be the right word to describe a man, and if Ryouta dared to say it out loud Tetsuya would just give him that long stare of _un-amused_ look, the blonde still think of him that way.

Tetsuya’s hair is in the lighter shade of blue, just like the sky on a bright summer day (in terms of color, wouldn’t Ryouta be the sun? Just see how well they complement each other), slightly disheveled as his head is resting on the satin pillow. His eyes are gleaming like a pair of aquamarines, bright in hue and when they glimmer Ryouta gets reminded of the sparkling surface of the vast blue sea. Those orbs, too, like the ocean itself, hold layers of mysteries, silently alluring curious sailors to discover the treasure they’ve hidden. And Ryouta is sailing his ship, searching for what is within.

Now Tetsuya’s eyes are closed, concealing the beauty underneath the eyelids. Even so, he still looks endearing. His thin eyelashes, his porcelain white cheeks, his thin lips. Ryouta knows he could watch him in this state and not realizing eternity had passed. He brushes his hands on Tetsuya’s forehead, sweeping the bangs off his eyes, caressing his cheek (it feels not too warm, yet not too cold), gently tracing his lips with the tip of his forefinger, then lays a gentle kiss in between his eyes. Ryouta smiles, though fully knowing that Tetsuya is not seeing him.

He lets out a silent sigh. At this very moment, Ryouta has to admit that he cannot actually make out Tetsuya’s expression. Is it joy? Is it sadness? He seems so calm, but is his heart the same? As he lays there, mouth forming a straight line and forehead off of furrows, Tetsuya just appears to be regularly sleeping—while that’s not true, and Ryouta realizes it. If only, he mulls, there is something he could do. Yet Ryouta has done all he’s capable of, and he knows that there are just things in the world that still won’t work out, no matter how deliberately you devise a plan, no matter how hard you work. Maybe that green Midorima was right—man might try all he could, but God would decide—maybe he was right after all.

Down his chin, a perfectly white collar enveloped Tetsuya’s neck, shirt buttoned up and completed by a carefully knotted tie, which color of black matches the exact deepness of his suit jacket (as good as new, freshly taken from the cleaner by the station just the other day). It is so black that it almost like implying to the name of the wearer, Kuroko Tetsuya; the shadow, the Generation of Miracles’ shadow. But to Ryouta, Tetsuya was never just a shadow.

He’s more than that, he’s everything. He is the darkest corners of Ryouta in which he hides all of his most ugly desires and worst ego, he is the true blackness found in the bottom of a well where Ryouta will climb down when the world becomes too chaotic, he is the galaxy, who pulled and absorbs and swallows anything—Ryouta’s heart, Ryouta’s mind, Ryouta’s being. Tetsuya is the genuine black, and no, a mere shadow of half-hearted vividness simply bears no comparison to him.

The blonde reaches for Tetsuya’s hand, which are folded up just above his stomach, holding a bouquet of peonies on his chest. Even as Ryouta give a light squeeze to the back of his hand, Tetsuya is still not moving for even a single twitch. He doesn’t say, but his stillness is as if screaming that he cannot be bothered.

Time looks like it’s freezing for him. There, in where neither words nor sounds can reach, Tetsuya lays deeper and deeper (but still he’s not sleeping) in his own universe. Sometimes, Ryouta imagines what it’s like to be on that side, where the light of the outside world ceased and darkness enfolds; maybe it’ll be like wandering through a labyrinth, or getting lost in the woods, or maybe more similar to leaping from clouds to clouds. But Ryouta never really knows; because he couldn’t enter the place Tetsuya is in, because the gates were closed before he could follow, because maybe he’s just not worth of it yet.

He removes his hands from Tetsuya’s, then exits through the front door of their apartment.

Ryouta didn’t say goodbye, because he didn’t need to, because every tiny bit of him were left in the very same room Tetsuya is in, because he simply couldn’t ignore the home and love they’ve been trying to build for the past three years.


	2. [0.5] chasing (away) dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(but what are people without dreams, anyway?)_

He wanted to die.

If only it could be done quickly and painlessly, Tetsuya wouldn’t give it a second thought. He would just sit there, waiting for the grim reaper to come and pick him up. But he was a coward, and he has been suffering for more than enough.

The announcement hit him like a tsunami wave; it ate anything and everything on his way—Tetsuya’s heart, Tetsuya’s mind, Tetsuya’s being—and he drowned. His lungs choked up on tears and he’s breathing in fluids and his ears deafened by water. _Tetsuya’s dying_. He’s dying somewhere far, far away off reality; a clone replaced him, functioning like a real person in a real world, well and alive.

He tried to break free, though still at the end of the day he would just succumb to his feelings again, sinking in the very same pool of mud, over and over.

He craved for a way out, but feelings are like shadow, creeping out from the bottom of his heart to the surface of his consciousness. Feelings have hungry hands, with long fingers and claws, touching everything they could reach. Feelings are something that keep hanging on the corners of the room, poisoning the air, haunting him at night when he stares at the ceiling. They’re akin to quicksand, and Tetsuya couldn’t escape.

More often than not, he despised himself for being so weak, for being a disappointment, for being such a selfish person. Tetsuya also hated Ryouta for being so nice to him, he hated Ryouta for letting himself be taken for granted, he hated Ryouta for loving him too much. He hated his life—for being a grand façade, for the lies that he imposed to himself, for having to act like everything was fine.

And above all he truly hated the fact that he couldn’t be like Ryouta—who never hated anything or anyone, who kept living while dreaming and clinging onto the sky lights (even though he knew the stars above weren’t real).

But those were Ryouta’s dreams, and everyone has dreams; Kuroko Tetsuya used to have dreams; of a distant future where he could be a novelist and live with the person he loves. He would one day woke up in the morning and catch a nice smell from the kitchen, then walk there to find that his soul mate was making breakfast. They would eat together like nothing else mattered, and in the beautiful Sunday afternoon they would lie on the sofa doing nothing, with books scattered around them, while feeling grateful for the warm tea on the table and the comfort of each other’s presence. They would talk about history and dramas, debating over which playwright and which author was the better one. Tetsuya would then recite an old Japanese poetry and he knew that one person who appreciated something like it would be Akashi Seijuurou. He knew that Akashi’s ideal future would be the same as his.

Tetsuya was right and their dreams were alike; but Akashi had a different image of whom the soul mate was.

Tetsuya was wrong, so very wrong. He was wrong for thinking that they were walking side by side, wrong for thinking that they saw each other in the same way, wrong for thinking that he stood a chance. Wrong for thinking they would make dreams come true together.

And by then, he knew his dreams were dead. Tetsuya chased them away, he swept it clean from his mind, but the scattered remained, lingering in the corners like the smell of something decaying—in which you could never get rid of it even though the source isn’t there anymore. The dreams were still there no matter what he did, but they weren’t his dreams anymore, those were somebody else’s.

Tetsuya now didn’t have dreams, but what are people without dreams, anyway?

(They aren’t living, they aren’t people. They’re just shadow, who kept on trying to convince themselves and everyone that they’re human.)

And so that night he approached Ryouta on the dinner table, with a cellphone in one hand, screen maliciously bright as it showed an email which the two of them had gotten.

“It’s a must,” Tetsuya said, “it’s a must that we attend Akashi-kun and Midorima-kun’s wedding.”


	3. under the starless sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(would it be too much if I asked you to try?)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is actually chapter 2, the previous one was chapter 0,5. sorry if it's confusing ;v;

“Ryouta-kun.”

He turns his head, and finds Tetsuya standing, two, three—five steps from him, without his black coat on, though he still keeps his shirt buttoned up and tie in place. The peonies are still in his hand, like it belongs there; Ryouta frowns at them, but forces a smile as he lifts his face.

“Tetsuyacchi.”

“What are you doing up here?” Tetsuya asks, and Ryouta can see that his eyes are sweeping the surroundings; they are on the rooftop of the apartment building, with a swimming pool in the middle and a tiny bar in one corner. When in the mood, Ryouta likes to ride the elevator up to top, where it’s roofless, just so he can gaze into the sky above (which reminds him very much of Tetsuya’s hair and eyes, and as the night descends, the dark horizon tinted by the city lights is always the best remedy for his tired soul).

“I don’t want to disturb you.”

“You know I wasn’t sleeping.”

“I do.”

They were silent for a moment, and Ryouta cannot help but to hope, for the whistling of the wind is enough to voice all of the unspoken words.

“It’s late,” the blue haired then says, “the pool will be closed soon.”

“Then I’ll just wait here until they ask me to go.” Ryouta smiles, this time for real. He waits, but the other doesn’t reply. He then pats a spot on the wooden bench he’s sitting on, gesturing for Tetsuya to place himself besides him. Tetsuya complies, and they sit side by side facing the pool, watching the faint underwater lights tinge the surface with yellowish glow. Gently, once more, the night wind blows; the two are close enough for Ryouta to feel Tetsuya’s hair strands brushing against his cheek.

Neither says anything, and they know each other well enough to know that Tetsuya is usually not the talkative one, while at times Ryouta can be the taciturn. Not they always need words to begin with; now and then, there’ll be times when they communicate solely through glances and hand movements, and part of Ryouta wants to believe, that this is one proof of them having a connection.

The blond closes his eyes, and he can clearly picture the whole scene happened earlier in that evening. It feels like only yesterday they had entered middle school, back then when things like jobs and spouses seemed like a very distant concept, and yet, they just attended one of their friends’ wedding, or to be more precise, two of their friends. Akashi and Midorima are together now, together— _together._ It’s not like they could have it officially listed in the civil registration or anything, nevertheless, the two still held a small party consisted of closest friends and families. The former regulars of Teikou basketball club were of course included—and seeing even the seemingly ignorant Murasakibara (who now lives in Sapporo) flew all the way to Tokyo—Ryouta simply couldn’t afford not to come. Not that he holds grudge or anything similar, but he was just more concern about Tetsuya, who actually, had been the one to drag Ryouta to the gathering.

 _“It’s a must,”_ he said, _“it’s a must that we attend Akashi-kun and Midorima-kun’s wedding,”_ Tetsuya had said. But his eyes were cold, the light blue went frozen and looked so unnatural, as if someone had gouged out the real ones and replaced them with a pair of ice cubes. And that is exactly why, in the last few years, Ryouta has always been, intently and unconsciously, avoiding to mention anything that has to do with their former captain and vice-captain.

Avoiding is akin to running for him; running from others, running from this poignant reality, and even sometimes from himself. Yet he now finds that his escape has come to a halt, and when he looks down, his feet are battered and flaked; he has been running for too far and too long.

“How are you feeling, Tetsuyacchi?” All of a sudden he blurts out.

Ryouta has always been clinging to the hope of getting requited, he hangs his hope high in the sky like an artificial star, and there will be a day when he looks up to find out that it has become a genuine one.

“I’m just fine.”

“Even though now Akashicchi is really with Midorimacchi?” On the spur of the moment Ryouta decides that he’ll no longer run, he can’t forever act like there’s nothing going on. He can’t keep looking at the starless sky while waiting for one of them to come out and notice him.

“ _I said I’m fine_.” His voice falters.

“You know,” Ryouta says, “these past three years, I don’t really mind, even until now, I don’t really mind that you still love Akashicchi.”

Tetsuya’s head turn, eyes quickly widens, then narrows just as fast. He opens his mouth, but immediately closes it again. Not a word comes out from him.

“And I can’t force you to love me wholeheartedly if you just simply don’t,” cold fingers finding their way to Tetsuya’s hands, “but would it be too much if I asked you to try?”


End file.
